


The A. Z. Fell Music Hall Presents: The Mystery of Adam Drood

by EveningStarcatcher



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Musicals, The Mystery of Edwin Drood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningStarcatcher/pseuds/EveningStarcatcher
Summary: One afternoon, to cure his boredom, Crowley transforms the bookshop into an English Music Hall and sits back while Aziraphale casts some familiar faces to tell a version of The Mystery of Edwin Drood on stage!A choose-your-own-ending mystery for the GO-events Mystery event!
Relationships: Anathema Device & Adam Young, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6
Collections: GO-Events Good Omens Mystery AU Event Works





	The A. Z. Fell Music Hall Presents: The Mystery of Adam Drood

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Amanda for organizing the event and to Darcy for coordinating the interviews!
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Waywarder

“Angel, I’m _booooored_ ,” Crowley whined from the couch. 

“So you said.” Aziraphale was seated at the desk, bespectacled nose buried deeply in a book.

“Why am I here if you’re going to ignore me?” The demon threw his limbs out as dramatically as he could manage without hurting himself or causing damage to the furniture.

“I’m not ignoring you, my dear. And besides, you invited yourself over.” Aziraphale smirked, but his eyes remained on the pages.

“But I’m here, so let’s drink or talk or you could at least read to me!”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, jaw dropped slightly, eyes wide. “You’d like me to read to you?” 

“If it means you won’t ignore me, sure, yeah, why not?” Crowley shrugged awkwardly, sprawled as he was. “What is it?”

“The Mystery of Edwin Drood.”

“Dickens? Could be worse.” Crowley pushed himself up onto an elbow. “Didn’t he die before he finished it?”

“He did.” Aziraphale blinked, surprised.

“Bet I could write a pretty good ending. Want me to try?” His smirk was positively dashing, and how could Aziraphale resist? He had always wondered how it would end and Crowley’s mind was as clever as Dickens, so why not?

“I rather think I do, actually!” Aziraphale turned to face him.

“Wait, really?”

“Of course! I have seen all manner of endings created in a number of adaptations, but I think yours would be the best.” Aziraphale’s smile sparkled.

“What’s your favorite right now?”

“There was one I saw at the theatre, the musical adaptation of the same name. You see, the audience voted on how the story would end and it was rather excit-”

“First of all, there’s a musical? Second of all, the audience gets to decide the ending? That sounds just wild enough to be good. Now I gotta know what this is.” He settled back against the couch. “Go on, angel.”

Aziraphale stared for a moment, a strange smile crawling over his face, then lifted the book and began to read.

“An ancient English Cathedral Tower? How can the ancient English Cathedral tower be here!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Crowley interrupted.

“Already? I’ve barely started!” Aziraphale huffed, letting the book drop into his lap.

“You said it was a musical. A stage show, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I want to see it.”

“It’s not playing anywhere dear, the theatres are shut down.” Aziraphale tutted.

“Not a real show, just one for us. You can be the director or whatever. C’mon, pleeeeeease? You love the theatre. I bet you miss it. The drama, the music, the romance…”

“And how exactly would we cast it? You expect me to call in the original cast for a one-night only performance?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh no. I have a better idea. And I think I’ve changed my mind. I’m not just going to write an ending, I’m going to improve the story.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Aziraphale gasped, clutching the book to his chest.

Crowley grinned wickedly and snapped his fingers.

The interior of the bookshop transformed into an old vaudeville house, complete with ornate fixtures, glowing footlights, and heavy red stage curtains. On the proscenium stood seven very confused beings, each holding a single, blank, 8x10 card.

“What are _they_ doing here?” Aziraphale whispered.

“They’re your actors!” Crowley beamed as he stared up at the stage. 

“They’re not actors! They’re, well, they’re… them!”

Aziraphale’s eyes swept over his cast of players: Newt, looking nervous as ever, Anathema, unphased and composed as Newt was nervous, Tracy, who was giving a small wave, and Shadwell, looking bewildered and ready for a fight. On the other side of the stage stood a very cross Gabriel, and a very vague Sandalphon.

Standing alone, centerstage, was Adam Young.

“What exactly are you getting at here?”  
“You’re right. I think we’re missing a few people.” Crowley snapped his fingers and two more beings appeared on the proscenium.

“Isn’t that…?” 

“Yup,” Crowley popped the p, “from the convent.”

A very bright Mary smiled at them, then turned to chatter away to the being at their side, but one look had her stepping away.

“Beelzebub, really? What am I supposed to do with _them_?” Aziraphale threw his hands in the air.

“You can think of something! C’moooooon,” Crowley encouraged. He sauntered over to the middle seat of the first row and threw himself into it. “I’m here to see a show!”

“My dear, we haven’t a script!”

“Right,” Crowley snapped and a script popped into the hands of each actor. “Assign the roles and let’s get on with it!” Popcorn appeared in his hand and he munched away.

“Dear, there’s no popcorn at the theatre,” Aziraphale scolded.

“S’not a real theatre though, right? S’a music hall. Eating’s allowed.”

Aziraphale’s lips drew into a tight line. Crowley was right.

“Well, fine!” He huffed and flipped through the script. “The Chairman acts as a sort of narrator, so best I take that role I think.” A card, matching those the actors held, appeared in his hands, sporting, in bold print, the word _Chairman_.

“As for the rest of you…” Aziraphale pointed at each actor as they were assigned roles, their character names appearing on their cards, and their outfits shifting into Victorian era suits and dresses, each with their own special flair, or lack thereof, depending on their role.

“Wonderful, I believe we’re ready to start.” Aziraphale clapped. “Lights!”

The lights faded down, a spotlight finding Aziraphale, whose outfit had transformed into a colorful Victorian suit, complete with an intricate cane and top hat. He now wore a plum jacket, gold brocade waistcoat, and blue ascot. The top hat was the same fuzzy cream one from the Victorian era, and Crowley couldn’t help but grin.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” He called in a loud, clear voice that filled the room with joy and warmth. “Oh, dear, that’s awfully non-inclusive is it…” he thought for a moment, then pressed on with the same level of command and showmanship. “Welcome old friends and new to the Music Hall Royale’s production of The Mystery of,” he looked down at the script, “Adam Drood. Really, my dear?” He broke character, shooting a look at Crowley. 

“What? It fits!” Crowley laughed, long and loud. 

“You are a menace, you know that?” Aziraphale huffed.

“S’my job!”

“Yes, of course it is. Now, where was I? Right, the Mystery of Adam Drood. This, being a musicale with dramatic interludes-”

“What?” called a voice from the stage.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem?” Aziraphale turned, searching for the source of the voice in the darkness.

“Did you say a musical?” Another voice asked.

“Music _ale_ , actually, but yes.” Aziraphale responded, waving a hand for the lights to come up on the stage proper. When they did, he was met with a cornucopia of displeased looks, and two rather excited.

“I’ve always wanted to be in a musical,” Tracy beamed as she grabbed Shadwell’s arm.

“I’ve never acted before, d’you think I’ll do alright?” Mary nearly bounced with excitement. 

“I’m. Not. Singing.” Beelzebub crossed their arms tightly over their chest.

“For once, I agree with them,” Gabriel frowned.

“Unless it’s the Sound of Music,” Sandalphon added.

“Musicals aren’t very cool,” Adam called.

Newt looked ready to pass out at the prospect of singing on stage and Anathema, who was tending to him, still managed to raise an eyebrow at Aziraphale.

“Alright, alright! No singing, then, but this is a play, so if you could all do your very best to do a good job for the audience, I’d be very grateful,” he pleaded.

“Audience? You mean him?” Adam pointed to Crowley, who was munching happily on his popcorn.

“Oh, I assure you, it’s not only him.”

“He is the only one here,” Tracy added with an apologetic smile.

“You can’t see them, but I assure you they’re here.” Aziraphale opened his arms in a wide gesture, including a great number of empty seats. (But it’s not just those in the seats that will enjoy this story, don’t you agree?) 

“We can only pray their trust in us is blind because there’s no telling how this will go. But, the show must go on, as they say, whether it’s a full house or an audience of one! So, off we go!” Aziraphale waved a hand and the lights faded once again.

“Now, as you may have guessed, our play, _not_ musical,” Aziraphale shot a quick look at the cast, then continued, “is based upon The Mystery of Edwin Drood, written by dear Charles Dickens.”

“Sounds familiar. Is he one of ours?” Gabriel asked Sandalphon, who shrugged.

“Poor Mr. Dickens,” Aziraphale continued, a slight tightness in his jaw at the interruption, “was only halfway through writing this most wonderful and fantastic novel when he committed the only unforgivable act of his life - he passed away, leaving no notes as to how the story would conclude or how the puzzle would be solved.”

“There’s no ending to this? This is worse than Heaven!” Beelzebub muttered.

Ever the professional, Aziraphale trudged on with a smile and a sparkle in his eye. “Tonight, however, we will find an ending together! After watching each scene carefully, listening to the stories of each of our colorful characters, and noting each clue, I will be asking you to vote upon key questions and our wonderful troupe of actors”, the lights came up once again revealing expressions ranging from furious to perplexed to terrified, “will endeavour to perform an ending to your exact specifications!”

Crowley cheered and clapped.

“So, without further ado, let us-”

“Wait, aren’t you gonna introduce me to the characters or something? I don’t have a playbill…” Crowley called.

“My dear, you know who they all are.” Aziraphale dropped character with an eye roll.

“I know who they are _really_ , but who are they in the show?”

“In the tradition of the Music Hall, I will introduce them upon their entrance. Does that suit you?” Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Sure, that works.”

“May I continue now?”

“Be my guest,” Crowley miracled his popcorn bag full again and munched happily.

Aziraphale sighed, shook his head, then stepped back into character.

“If there are no more questions, May I present to you, without further ado,:”

The company called in unison, “The Mystery of _Adam_ _Drooooooooood_!”

_[blackout]_


End file.
